


Love is All You Knead

by SpaceMatriarchy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Cats, Cooking, Gen, Nephil Jack Kline, accidental pet aquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-21 03:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceMatriarchy/pseuds/SpaceMatriarchy
Summary: Jack is kneading pizza dough for family pizza night, when he sneezes.Suddenly the dough is no longer dough. Suddenly it's very furry and cuddly and meows at him when he pokes it.Oops.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 113





	Love is All You Knead

**Author's Note:**

> why did i write this?????? lord knows.  
> anyway jack and his kitty both have BD - Baby Disorder, the disorder where you are Babey.

Pizza night was always just a little better when they had the time to make the meal themselves. The tradition that started as a lazy takeout meal after a long drive had slowly morphed into an occasional sub-tradition of dough and sauce and toppings put together from ingredients, not from a package. The little secret Jack had never told his dads, the reason he so preferred these pizza nights in particular, was that he truly treasured the chance to spend quality time cooking with Dean, making something together in the kitchen.

Kneading the dough was the most fun part. It was kind of like playing with clay, except more exciting because they’d get to eat it together, afterwards. And if Dean had complaints about Jack playing with his food a little more than was necessary, he’d never voiced them.

Jack was well at his task, and rolled the dough together into a fat ball as he finished up the process. He was thinking absently about how the cats he’d seen on the internet would knead blankets as if they were bread. He’d read it was an instinct having to do with kittens and milk, but it was very sweet to watch them ‘make biscuits’ and--

_ “Achoo!” _

A harsh sneeze snuck up on Jack, rattling his head and knocking him back on his heels. He’d barely had time to throw his hand over his mouth to protect the food from his germs, and the string of phlegm that had been thrown violently from his throat, and he wasn’t sure he had totally succeeded.

“You good?” Dean asked, from his spot nearby, chopping veggies. Jack nodded. “Wash your hands before you touch that dough again, ok?”

Jack nodded again, hand still over his mouth. He moved to the sink and did just that, humming “Happy Birthday” to himself, twice, like the sign in a public bathroom in Utah had once said to do, before rinsing off the soap and drying his hands on a dish cloth.

He returned to the floured work surface, and the pale, cream coloured dough. Jack laid a hand on it, to start squeezing it out into a flat circle, but he heard a little squeak, and something was decidedly  _ off _ . The lump of dough was softer than it had been a moment ago. It didn’t yield to gentle pressure like it was supposed to.

Confused, Jack squeezed again.

“Mrow,” the pizza dough said.

A furry white paw extracted itself from the curled up mass, and as it rolled to stretch, a soft, sleepy little face emerged, eyes closed in contentment.

“What was that, Jack?” Dean asked, without looking up from his veggies.

“Uh…” was all Jack could mutter in response. “Dean?”

“Yeah, wha- _ achoo!” _ Dean sneezed as forcefully as Jack had, tucking his nose into the elbow of his flannel shirt. He sniffed wetly. “Jesus, what are you, contagious?”

Gently as he could, Jack scooped his hands under the dough - the  _ cat _ \- and lifted it into his arms. It stretched a little more in the embrace and started to purr, and the dusting of flour all over it transferred off onto Jack’s shirt. He turned to Dean.

Dean stared open mouthed at Jack.

“What’s that?”

“A cat?” Jack answered.

“Where did you get-- _ achoo!”  _ Dean sneezed again. “Where did you get a cat?”

Jack looked down at the furry body in his arms. “I think I made it?”

“You  _ what?” _ Dean asked.

“I don’t know, it was pizza dough a minute ago!” Jack cried.

His voice must have woken the cat, and it opened its wide, yellow eyes to blink up at him, still purring. Dean looked at the counter where the dough had been, and then back to Jack and the animal.

“Well, there goes our dinner…” Dean muttered to himself. He did the awkward, pre-sneeze inhale two or three times before shaking himself and refusing to submit.

It was then that Cas rounded the corner through the kitchen’s doorway, a look of mild concern on his face. He looked between Jack and Dean.

“I heard a shout, is something--” He cut himself off. “Is that a cat?”

“Yes,” Jack said, at the same time as Dean said “no.”

Cas looked to Dean. “Dean, that’s very clearly a cat,” he said.

“It won’t be for long,” Dean said sternly.

He turned to Jack, and pointed at the bundle of fur and fluff in his arms. The cat snuggled his face into Jack’s shirt. “Turn it back,” Dean said.

“No!” Jack cried. “I’m not gonna kill her!”

“It’s not a living thing, Jack, it’s pizza dough!” Dean yelled.

“Not anymore,” Cas said, almost to himself. “Jack, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I was kneading the dough, and I was thinking about how kittens knead on blankets? And then I sneezed.”

“And boom,” Dean said, picking up the story. “Cat.”

Cas considered for a moment. “So your powers misfired,” he concluded. “That’s certainly a uniquely happy accident.”

“Happy?” Dean asked.

“Can we keep her?” Jack asked, quietly, like his hope was a dangerous, delicate thing.

“No way,” Dean said, cutting off the conversation before it could begin. “We cannot have a cat.”

“Well, we  _ could,” _ Cas said.

“I’m allergic,” Dean said. “Not to mention… we… what happens if one day we don’t come back? An animal could starve if we’re delayed a few days, let alone if we bite it on a hunt someday.”

Castiel crossed his arm, thinking carefully. “That is a consideration,” he said. “But we could make arrangements, I’m sure.”

Dean started once again to argue, but Jack was distracted as the cat was starting to fuss. “You want down?” Jack asked under his breath. She wiggled her way right-side up, and when she tried to jump down, Jack allowed it. She landed gracefully on the kitchen tile, and started to trot off towards the door, leaving little floury pawprints all the way.

“Get her!” Dean called, starting to run after the little animal. 

“Dean!” Cas admonished him, and followed behind, with Jack hot on his heels.

The convoy of cat, man, angel, and nephilim made a speedy path out of the kitchen and down the hall, taking a hard turn into the library. Where was she going? Did she know the way to the front door? Was she trying to escape into the world, with hitherto unknown “feline by immaculate conception” powers? 

By the time Jack arrived, bringing up the rear, however, he saw a very different scene. Instead, the little cream coloured cat had trotted over to the wide table where Sam sat, reading, and hopped right on up. She stood with two paws planted on the pages of an 18th century text, rubbing her face against Sam’s big hands and purring so loudly that Jack could hear it long before he was actually stood around the table alongside Dean and Cas. He held his breath - as he could feel the others do, too - in anticipation of Sam’s reaction.

Sam was stunned into silence, sitting stiffly in his chair, brows knit together in confusion as he stared at the cat, numbly accepting her affection. She leaned hard into one of his hands and flopped onto her back, continuing to nuzzle. 

Sam looked up at the rest of his family, silently demanding an explanation.

“Jack sneezed on the pizza,” Dean said, in an exhausted deadpan. “Bon appetit.”

There was a long minute of baffled silence.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I sneezed and accidentally made a cat,” Jack said, taking his own initiative. “And I know Dean’s allergic, but she’s  _ very _ sweet, and--”

“We’re not keeping the cat,” Dean said.

“We could absolutely keep the cat,” Castiel countered, without missing a beat.

“Mrowr!” The cat added helpfully, wondering why she wasn’t being given the attention she deserved.

Sam looked earnestly up at Jack. “Do you want to keep her?” He asked.

Nervously, Jack nodded. “I made her, so I’m responsible for her,” he said. “If it’s not possible, I understand and I’ll find a home for her elsewhere, but…”

Jack trailed off.

“It might be nice to have a cat,” Cas said softly. “There may even be practical benefits, but certainly if it makes Jack happy, I’m not opposed.”

“And it’s really good of you, Jack, to take responsibility for her,” Sam added. “And I’m, uh, pretty sure you’re not the only one who likes the idea of having a pet, though Cas is maybe a bit too proud to admit it.”

Castiel squared his shoulders and turned his face away at an angle, a gesture of mild embarrassment. 

All other eyes swiveled to Dean, hopeful, but anticipating a veto. His expression wasn’t happy, but it had softened - he was thinking about it. At very, very least, he was thinking about it. There was a crack in the unfeeling, anti-cat armour.

“Can we try?” Jack asked. “Just for a little while, to see if she fits?”

Dean leaned over the table, and very gently, with great hesitation, he brushed the cat’s fur with the back of his fingers, then pulled away quickly as if he was afraid she might bite. Instead, she turned her head to see who was touching her and looked owlishly up at Dean before offering a soft meow. Dean held one crooked finger out for her to sniff, and she did, before rubbing her cheek against it and purring all that much louder.

“Dammit,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“I’ll put Benadryl on the shopping list?” Sam asked, with a knowing smile.

Before Dean could answer, Castiel stepped forward. “If I may?” He asked, and when Dean offered no protest, Cas pressed two fingers to his forehead. Dean’s body gave a faint, quick little shiver.

“What was that?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled. “That was your allergy,” he said. “I can’t allay all your concerns, but I can help with that.”

“So, Jack?” Sam interrupted. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t know,” Jack replied. He turned to the cat. “What’s your name?”

She meowed.

“You’re her daddy, I guess you get to name her,” Dean said. “So what’ll it be? Fuzzy? Mittens? Kashmir?”

“She’s certainly got a motor like a Chevy,” Sam mused, scratching her under the chin as she continued to purr loudly. “That’d be a cute name.”

“Deborah?” Cas suggested, idly.

Jack thought on it for a short time, studying the cat intently, face in a stern expression.

“Her name is Bread,” he said, at last.

Dean laughed, but quickly realized he was laughing alone. “Wait, seriously?”

Jack nodded. “I made her out of bread,” he said, gently scooping her back up in his arms. She soon settled down into his hold, and Jack felt the rhythmic presses of her front paws against his shirt, one after the other, claws catching on the fabric. “She’s Bread.”

Sam shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” he said. The three adults exchanged bemused looks.

“Welcome home, Bread,” Jack said softly, just for her little cat ears. “It’s nice to meet you.”


End file.
